


Miraculous: A Tale Of Masks And Ballgowns

by thornsword (eeeeeeee)



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Cinderella AU, F/M, LadyNoir - Freeform, Masked ball au, adrienette - Freeform, miraculous secret santa, miraculouspresents2k15
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-27
Updated: 2015-12-27
Packaged: 2018-05-09 19:06:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5551769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eeeeeeee/pseuds/thornsword
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prince Adrien - or rather, King Agreste - is hosting a ball to find a wife, and tailor’s apprentice/baker’s daughter Marinette Dupain Cheng just might find her wish of ballgowns and chandelier lights granted. Not-Quite-Cinderella AU</p>
            </blockquote>





	Miraculous: A Tale Of Masks And Ballgowns

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DarkScales](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkScales/gifts).



> Heyo!
> 
> This is my secret santa gift for Darkscaleswriter <3 I hope you like it!!
> 
> Pairing(s): Marinette x Adrien/Ladybug x Chat Noir
> 
> Word count: 4372
> 
> Warnings: unbeta’d and OOC
> 
> Disclaimer: I can’t really write an au if I own it now can I?
> 
> Enjoy!

“Well you _said_ you wanted a birthday party,” Plagg reminded him sarcastically.

 

Adrien glared at the butler from his bed. “I said I wanted a _party_ with my _friends,_ not another gigantic ball so my father can attempt to pick me out a prim and proper young lady,” he groaned. 

 

Plagg shrugged unsympathetically.

 

“Don’t ever be a prince Plagg,” Adrien lamented, flopping back down on his soft mattress, “it sucks.”

 

“I’m a _butler.”_

 

“I don’t care. Just don’t be a prince.”

 

Rolling his eyes, Plagg started backing out through the doorway. “Don’t forget, you have a suit fitting at two and you gotta check on the cake straight after that so get dressed,” he told the moping royal over his shoulder as he walked down the hallway. 

 

Adrien groaned before sliding off his bed and reluctantly walking over to his wardrobe. 

 

_If I only have to dance with Lady Chloe once, I’ll consider tonight a win,_ he thought, remembering the - frankly slightly uncomfortable - waltzes they had shared before, consisting of awkward small talk on Adrien’s part, and batted eyelashes in faux modestly on hers. 

 

_Yeah, these dances are_ **_fun_ ** _aren’t they?_

 

Grumbling sulkily, Adrien slowly pulled on his clothes - traditional white shirt, black pants, shoes too shiny for their own good - and set off into the hallway. 

 

“I mean,” he mumbled to himself, deftly navigating the maze of corridors, “why is it a _masked_ ball if he wants me to find a _wife?_ That doesn’t make any- oof!”

 

Adrien was cut off as he bumped into something. Hitting the floor painfully, he let out a cry before looking up to see what it was - had he crashed into a statue again? Oh god, did he break another one of the vases? Did he-

 

“Owwww,” a small voice groaned, and Adrien realised that it wasn’t a _what_ but a _who._

 

“Ah! I’m sorry!” he apologised hastily, jumping up and holding a hand out to the young girl. 

 

She looked up at him and flushed bright red. “P-P-Prince Adrien!” she stammered rising to her feet only to sink her head in a bow, “I’m so t-terribly sorry! I wasn’t… and then… oh _no_ the fabric!”

 

He couldn’t help it. He laughed. 

 

The girl stopped in her tracks and looked down at the floor, fidgeting awkwardly and the back of her neck glowing pink. 

 

“I-I’m sorry,” he told her once again, “it’s really nothing you should be nervous about.”

 

She looked up in shock, and Adrien finally got a good look at her. 

 

Her black hair was tied neatly into two pigtails, a light brown vest was laid over of a red blouse and her brown skirt came down just to her knees. Blue eyes stared at him shyly, never meeting his gaze. 

 

“What’s your name?”

 

“…E-eh? Mine? Uh, well of course you meant mine… who else is here, I mean, it’s M-Marinette, sire,” she replied. 

 

“Well, _Marinette,”_ he smiled, bending down to pick up the reel of green fabric that she dropped, “it was nice meeting you.”

 

“Y-Yes! That is… fabric, thanks, I-um gotta- well the thing is, um, yes fabric- bye?”

 

Adrien chuckled slightly as the flustered girl ran off, fabric billowing out behind her. _She must be the new tailor’s apprentice,_ he thought to himself, before walking towards his father’s office. 

 

He stood outside the intimidating double doors for a few moments, trying to decide if his childish complaints about the ball were worth facing the wrath of his father. Adrien didn’t have to deliberate long however, as the doors opened and his father appeared in front of him. 

 

“Adrien I can hear you pacing - which is something a prince _should not do -_ from in there what is it?” he demanded, and Adrien’s resolve dropped to his feet and melted. 

 

“Um, I just wanted to talk to you about- about the ball?”

 

The king rolled his eyes. “Yes, you are having it, no you can’t get out of it, yes you have to dance with Lady Chloe, and yes I recommend her to be your wife,” he said, clearly exasperated, “now, if we’re _quite_ finished, I have more _pressing_ matters to attend to.”

 

The doors slammed shut, making Adrien wince. 

 

_Well there goes that plan then._

 

Sighing, the prince accepted his fate - albeit reluctantly - and turned to go down to the tailor. _Why_ he had to get a new suit _every time_ they had a gala he had _no idea…_

 

_———_

 

“You actually _talked_ to him?!” Alya shrieked. 

 

Marinette’s cheeks grew bright red as she stuck another pin into the fabric. “Yes, well, it was more like _he_ was talking and _I_ was making a fool of myself, but whatever floats your boat,” she sighed. 

 

“Hey, stuttering is progress,” the maid told her, “so despite everything, you’re doing alright for a servant who fell for the prince.”

 

“Not so _loud_ Alya!”

 

She just laughed. “Sorry, sorry,” Ayla apologised jokingly, “I gotta go back to preparing for this hell of a banquet - keep your head up Mari!”

 

Marinette shook her head fondly at her friend’s nonchalance towards her work. 

 

“Marinette!” Ms. Bustier called, “I need you to finish up the green coat, if you’re _quite finished_ talking to your friend!”

 

She winced. 

 

“Sorry Ms. Bustier!” 

 

The woman emerged from the back room carrying a large roll of black fabric. “The prince should be here soon, so if you could clear a workspace while I get the fabric it’d be greatly appreciated.”

 

Marinette squeaked. _The prince?? Oh god oh god oh god ohgdoplfsigcdaaah_

 

She hastily ran to the middle table and packed away sewing machines, threw unusable scraps away and gathered up any loose pins. Then she grabbed the green jacket she was working on and retreated to the back corner. 

 

The tailor’s was a dusty room in the west wing of the palace. Most of the Lords and Ladies of the court bought their clothes overseas, boasting about the rare jewels and gold thread that adorned their silk dresses and luxurious suits, but the king was distrustful of such lavish goods, and preferred that his clothes be made where he could have complete control over the whole design, fabric and colour of the garment. 

 

As a result, the only people that ever came to the tailor’s were the king, the prince, and Alya. 

 

There was a knock at the door and Marinette let out a squeak, before immediately covering her mouth and hoping no one heard.

 

Ms. Bustier came out of the back room and shooed her away, gathering tape measures and boxes of pins on the way to the door. 

 

Marinette only saw a flash of blonde hair before she retreated into the back room, cheeks flushing from their earlier encounter. She spent the entire visit with her back up against the door, listening to the indecipherable murmurs, waiting with anticipation at the amazing creation Ms. Bustier would surely produce. 

 

How she made such masterpieces from simple cloth and string, Marinette didn’t know, but she dreamt of one day doing the same. 

 

The gentle mumbling disappeared with a definitive _thunk_ of the front door closing. There were footsteps coming towards her and the door she was leaning on swung open, causing her to fall flat on her back. 

 

“Come on Marinette,” Ms. Bustier chuckled, “this is no time to sit around!”

 

The day flew past as Ms. Bustier taught her how to stiffen a collar, make padded lining, thread a corset, and ruffle a petticoat, and before she knew it, night had fallen. 

 

“Oh _no,”_ Marinette sighed, “my parents are going to be worried _sick.”_

 

“‘en wha’ are ‘ou wai’in’ ‘or? ‘o, go!” Ms. Bustier told her with a mouthful of pins. 

 

Marinette smiled, grabbed her bag and sprinted out of the room. 

 

_Maman is going to be so mad,_ she thought woefully, _Papa said never to be out past sunset and look at the sky now!_

 

She ran through the winding cobblestone streets, ducked around back corners and past buildings leaning with age. Huffing and out of breath - it was quite the distance from the palace to her home - Marinette knocked on the door to their bakery. 

 

Footsteps. Very large, hulking footsteps rushing to the door. 

 

Marinette winced. 

 

The door swung open, and her father’s distressed face appeared, worry lines fading in relief. 

 

“Marinette!” he cried, pulling her into a hug, “where have you been?”

 

“Is that Marinette?” called her mother from inside the shop. 

 

Her father unwrapped his arms and made a _go see your mother_ gesture with his hands, clearly not wanting to be on the receiving end of whatever anger her worry had spawned. 

 

“Yeah Maman, it’s me,” Marinette replied carefully as she made her way to the kitchen. Before she knew what was happening, her mother was hugging her tightly. 

 

“Don’t _ever_ do that again, silly girl!” she chided, “I was so worried! There could have been a million ways you were dead and another thousand you were kidnapped!”

 

“I’m fine Maman.”

 

Her mother pulled away and stared Marinette straight in the eye. “You are, But you _could very well not be,”_ she sighed, “don’t you understand that?”

 

“I do,” she nodded, “and I really am sorry, I won’t do it again.”

 

“Exactly,” her mothers tone was laced with warning, “now, off to bed with you. I’m sure with the ball going on you must be very tired.”

 

_Ah yes, the ball,_ Marinette thought to herself wistfully as she climbed the stairs, _imagine all the amazing dresses, and the lights and the people…_

 

She smiled softly and twirled in her small room, furnished with only a bed, a wardrobe and a lamp she got for her sixteenth birthday. 

 

Arms raised as if she were dancing with a handsome stranger, Marinette spun while she dreamt of going to the ball. Her thick brown skirt billowed around her knees and stray hair flew in front of her face, but on her lips was the same serene smile. 

 

“Hello,” a voice sounded, jerking Marinette out of her daydream. 

 

Her head whipped around frantically, trying to find the source of the unknown voice. “Hello?” she called, “Who’s there?”

 

“Me.”

 

Marinette screamed as a red - _insect? bird? alien??_ \- thing flew in front of her face. It had large eyes that stared deeply into her own, and Marinette wondered offhandedly what it wanted. 

 

_“Marinette? Are you okay?”_ her mother exclaimed from downstairs. 

 

“Fine!” she yelled back, not moving her gaze away from the red thing, “just… tripped!”

 

There was amicable mumbling, which was probably caused my her mother sighing in fond exasperation and telling her father about their clumsy daughter. 

 

There was a beat of silence.

 

“Who… _what_ are you?” 

 

“I’m your kwami, Tikki!” it introduced, smiling. 

 

“Okay… um, what’s a kwami?” Marinette asked carefully. 

 

“It’s me, but we don’t have time for this - you want to go to the ball don’t you?” 

 

_Now_ she was confused. “Yes, but I don’t understand what that has to do with anyth-“

 

“If you don’t hurry up it’ll be over before you get there!” the thing- _kwami_ whizzed around and grabbed a couple of mismatched, brown buttons off the floor. Marinette’s eyes widened as it blew on them as if they were dusty and they became a pair of shiny, red-and-black earrings. 

 

It placed the jewellery in her hand and sat down next to her, looking up at Marinette expectantly. 

 

“Well?” it asked, almost indignantly, “what are you waiting for?”

 

_What?? I don’t even know what’s happening!_

 

“What do you mean? What am I doing? How did you turn those buttons into-“

 

“Just put the earrings on!” Tikki exclaimed. 

 

Marinette jumped slightly and - _but my ears aren’t pierced what do I do -_ brought the spotted jewellery to touch her earlobes. There was a bright light and she closed her eyes, panicking slightlyas she felt something touch face, and something light whipping around her ankles. 

 

The light faded from beneath Marinette’s eyelids. _Open your eyes,_ Tikki seemed to whisper in her ear, and she did. At first, everything seemed normal - she was still in her dusty room, with the same bed, the same wardrobe and the same lamp.

 

Then she looked down. 

 

Silky red fabric fell from her hips, with spotted ruffles in the middle. There was a corset around her middle, covered by the same silky red fabric with designs in black lace and her shoulders were bare. Her sleeves billowed out at the elbows and shaking hands reached up to touch her face. There was something hard - _a mask._

 

Marinette scrambled downstairs for a mirror, and gasped at her reflection. 

 

“Is that… is that really _me?”_ she asked no one in particular, staring at the clear-skinned, red-lipped girl in front of her. Her black-blue hair had been put up on the top of her head with a shiny gold hair piece, and her mask bore the same red-and-black spotted pattern as the front of her dress.

 

_What was going on?_

 

_You wanted to go to the ball, didn’t you?_ came Tikki’s voice again. 

 

“Well, yes but…”

 

_Then go outside! We don’t have much time!_

 

Marinette jumped and ran outside, where - _what is happening how is this real I’m definitely dreaming -_ a pure white horse-drawn carriage was waiting for her. It seemed to glow against the dirty, cluttered street and Marinette offhandedly wondered if it woke anyone up. 

 

_Yes, I know it’s amazing, but there’s quite the drive to the palace and we’re on a time limit._

 

“What time limit?” Marinette asked aloud as she clambered into the carriage, not used to such long, lavish clothes. 

 

_The spots on your earrings. You have to leave before the last one disappears._

 

“What happens if I don’t?”

 

_Your dress, mask- everything vanishes when that last dot goes away._

 

Marinette swallowed thickly. “So I’ll be wearing my normal clothes?”

 

_Yes. But the last one will beep before going out, so you’ll have a warning._

 

_———_

 

Adrien sighed. People had only just started arriving and he was _already_ wishing he was somewhere - _anywhere -_ else. 

 

He adjusted his cat ears and black suit awkwardly. Ms. Bustier had gained a sense of humour, apparently. 

 

“Hey man!” 

 

Adrien turned. “Nino! I didn’t know you were coming!” he exclaimed, staring at his friend’s clown-like mask.

 

Nino was one of the only people his father had allowed him to play with as a child, and that was only because his family’s wealth was almost on par with theirs. 

 

“My dad thought this was gonna be a good opportunity to find me a wife as well - you can’t dance with everyone after all,” he chuckled. 

 

“I don’t _want_ to dance with everyone,” Adrien sighed, “especially _one lady in particular.”_

 

Nino laughed and placed a sympathetic hand on his shoulder. “I ain’t jealous of you and that harpy.”

 

“Thanks Nino,” he shot back sarcastically. 

 

Suddenly, Adrien was shoved underneath the buffet table. “Nino wha-“

 

“No Lady Sabrina, I _haven’t_ seen Prince Adrien _at all,”_ his friend announced loudly. 

 

Adrien cursed under his breath and tried to stay quiet. 

 

“Why are you being so loud?” Sabrina asked. 

 

“N-No reason, no reason at all,” was the nervous reply. 

 

“Well… okay,” she relented, “if you _do_ see him, tell him _Lady Chloe_ is looking for him.”

 

High heeled footsteps receded into the growing noise of the grand hall, and Nino’s hand appeared under the tablecloth, signalling it was alright for him to come out. 

 

“I’m not gonna survive the night,” he lamented. 

 

“Yes you are, look you can use this,” Nino withdrew a black mask from his coat and handed it to him, “the prince was going to be the only one not wearing a mask, right? So I asked Plagg for another one.”

 

“I don't know _how_ you got Plagg to be agreeable but you’re a lifesaver,” Adrien gasped, putting the mask on. 

 

“I bribed him with cheese, the really high-end stuff,” Nino grinned, “perfect! I can’t even recognise you.”

 

The next twenty minutes for Adrien involved taking his mask and cat ears off so his father could introduce him to important dignitaries with daughters whose names he wouldn’t remember by the time he was shaking hands with the next one, as well as an _extremely_ intimate greeting from Lady Chloe and an empty promise that he would _most definitely_ dance with her. 

 

He snuck away as soon as he could, ducking behind a table to don his disguise. It was rather… liberating, not having to put on a princely act, as well as having others treating hi they would a normal person. Already he had experienced the son of a lord push him out of the way grumpily to get to the food, the same son who kissed up to him every time their family came to visit. 

 

Adrien grinned a the thought of not being a prince for that evening, of not having to impress his father, or dance with people he didn’t want to or worry about offending someone and starting a war.He glanced around the glimmering gold hall, filled with music and people in suits and dresses of all colours of the rainbow twirling and dancing. 

 

“You,” came a demanding voice to his right, “dance with me.”

 

_Lady Chloe._

 

“Um.. what?”

 

“Dance with me, then the prince will see how wanted I am and get jealous and cut in,” Lady Chloe told him and it took everything Adrien had not to laugh. Or groan. He couldn’t decide. 

 

Prince or not, it was incredibly rude to reject an offer to dance, _especially_ a lady’s, so despite the hundred or so men present, _of course_ he was still the one that got roped into Lady Chloe’s grasp. 

 

Her bright yellow dress puffed out at the hips and was adorned with various gems that sparkled under the chandelier. White feathers lined her collar and brushed her neck lightly, her long white gloves came up to her elbows and her mask only covered one eye. 

 

Adrien placed his hands gingerly on her hips, she looped her hands around his neck and they swayed awkwardly to the music as Lady Chloe looked around frantically for the prince. 

 

_“Where is he, where is he…”_ she muttered in frustration while Adrien - _the prince, Adrien -_ paid close attention to the music, his steps, _anything_ to make the time go by faster.

 

(It wasn’t working)

 

“Excuse me,” they both turned to find a lady with a spotted mask, “mind if I cut in?”

 

———

 

When Marinette first stepped inside the ballroom, she couldn’t breathe - everything was so _brilliant_ and _bright_ and _amazing_ and _oh my god am I really here?_

 

She lifted up the front of her dress so she wouldn’t trip and descended the stairs slowly, not wanting to trip and make a fool of herself in the first ten minutes. Her shoes clicked on the polished floor like they were made of glass and a part of Marinette wanted to run as fast as she could just to hear the sound they would make.

 

But she didn’t. Because that would be unseemly. She was a lady. 

 

Mairnette giggled. _She was a Lady._

 

Well, for tonight at least. 

 

She glanced around for a moment then wandered off aimlessly, enjoying the feeling of her dress swishing around her ankles as she did so. Marinette stared at the people dancing, some twisting wildly, some swaying intimately, some laughing jovially with their hands clasped together and some… she looked at a pair stepping awkwardly and out of time, were like _that._

 

The girl was wearing an amazing golden dress - Marinette was instantly jealous of the tailor - and kept craning her neck around her partner, scanning the crowd around them with a possessive gleam in her eye, while said partner leant away uncomfortably, only keeping the slightest touch on her. 

 

She looked at them for a little longer before taking pity on him, and, with confidence she didn’t know she had, walked over to them. 

 

“Excuse me,” she smiled, and they both turned towards her, “mind if I cut in?”

 

Despite only being a baker’s daughter, Marinette knew _some_ rules. You couldn’t decline an invitation to dace unless you were engaged or something, you don’t eat food with your fingers and you can’t say no to someone when they want to cut in. 

 

_Well, I hope you can’t anyway,_ she thought. 

 

“Of course,” the boy in the cat ears obliged, letting go of the girl in gold and holding out a hand for her, “My Lady.”

 

“You looked like you needed a partner change,” she giggled as they twirled around - much more enthusiastically than before, she noted. 

 

“All she was doing was looking for the prince,” he told her dryly, “I pity him.”

 

“I think everyone’s looking for the prince.”

 

“Does that include you?” he asked, smirking slightly. 

 

_Don’t blush don’t blush don’t blush…_

 

Marinette shook her head. “Oh no, he’s looking for a wife, isn’t he? I’m happy just to _be_ here…” she trailed off. 

 

“So what do I call the _Mademoiselle_ who’s just happy to be here?” he asked, and Marinette was _sure_ he was teasing her. 

 

“Um… you can call me…” she couldn’t give her _real_ name surely, she glanced down at the spotted pattern on her dress, “Ladybug.”

 

His eyes widened slightly in surprise. “Ah, so the Lady likes to keep secrets,” he smiled, letting go of her waist and raising their joined hands to spin her around.

 

“And what do I call the _Monsieur_ with the strange ears?” 

 

_“Chat Noir.”_

 

Marinette laughed. “It seems I am not the only one with secrets.”

 

He just winked and held her waist again, his emerald eyes seemed to be glittering under the shattered light of the chandelier and it made something jolt in Marinette’s stomach and buzz in her fingers. 

 

They danced and danced and danced all through the evening, avoiding anyone who headed towards them and laughing with their hearts light, as if every trouble before this moment was nothing. 

 

_Beep beep beep beep_

 

Every trouble was _not_ nothing, her heart sank and _her time was up._

 

“What was that?” Chat Noir asked curiously as Marinette flished away like she had been burned. 

 

“I… I have to go,” she whispered, stepping away and avoiding his gaze, “I’m sorry.”

 

With that, she turned and ran. Away from the glittering ballroom, away from the glistening chandelier, away from the palace and away from _him._

 

As she ran down the steps, her hair clip fell out, clattering on the stone staircase but she didn’t try to pick it up, or even look to see if it had broken, she barely had time to duck behind a bush as the bright light encased her once again and Ladybug melted away to reveal plain old Marinette, the only thing remaining was the shiny spotted jewellery hanging from her ears.

 

She sighed and leant against the low wall, hair brushing her neck in dual pigtails once again. 

 

Footsteps echoed around the empty streets from behind her, hurried and frantic and drawing closer to Marinette by the second. She tensed up - were people like her even _allowed_ to be this close to the palace?

 

Blonde hair and cat ears. 

 

She smiled sadly as the person she had been dancing with all night stepped into her sight, holding the cracked hair piece, glinting in the moonlight. 

 

“Excuse me!” he exclaimed, moving towards her, “have you seen a beautiful lady wearing a red dress and a spotted mask come past here?”

 

“No Monsieur,” she replied, shaking her head, “sorry.”

 

He sighed woefully. “Not your fault,” he told her, “I probably should have gotten her real name or something, eh?”

 

Marinette didn’t reply. 

 

“I guess I’ll just have to wait until the next ball…” with those parting words, he made his way back up the stairs. 

 

_I don’t think I’ll be able to make it to the next ball Chat Noir,_ she thought to herself, staring up at the starry sky. 

 

“Well _of course_ you’ll see him at the next ball,” a small voice sounded next to her ear, and Marinette jumped. 

 

“Tikki!”

 

The small creature waved sleepily and sat on her shoulder. “You’ll see him at the next ball, but first I need some sleep… and cookies,” she murmured. 

 

“I agree,” Marinette yawned, before walking down the cobblestone street and towards her house. 

 

———

 

_Did you hear Mari?_ Alya’s voice echoed in her mind as her shoes once again clicked on the polished floor, _apparently the prince didn’t find a wife so there’s gonna be another ball tonight! Do you know how much work that means for us palace staff?_

 

There was a tap on her shoulder, and she whirled around, dress swishing around her ankles. 

 

“I believe this is yours,” the boy with cat ears grinned, bowing low and holding out the chipped hair piece with one hand. 

 

“Monsieur Noir,” she greeted, her jovial tone betraying the straight face she had pulled, “what a shame it is to see you here tonight.”

 

“Au contraire _My Lady,”_ he replied easily, standing up and placing the gold accessory in her hand, “it’s a tragedy.”

 

“Tragedy?”

 

He smirked and moved closer to her, a hand under her chin. “For all the ladies I won’t be dancing with tonight.”

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to keep it close to the show, so no identity reveal sorry! In my mind, they would have several more dances and with each one they both get paranoid about how the other would react when they find out but when they do everything turns out fine.
> 
> I hope darkscaleswriter liked it, as well as anyone else who read through ^u^
> 
> As always,
> 
> Thornsword.


End file.
